How easy is to
conceal our shames behind...

I am in awe of the translation of your eyes,
from the forgotten languages of dreams...

Hey torero you are so brave
raging the bull...

Loneliness is a
distance that could never be...

This town is a poem
These roads are eloquent...

Death is what my hands are searching in my...
Death is a floating object...

Like all the whites and pinks tailing
your heir...

...

<<to the mother of Holly Jones >>
I saw your neck...

I was all the desolations one could ever have,
all the distance of loneliness...

Audio...

All these roads are as the print of lashes
on his body...